Read Online Runaway Groom by Virginia Nelson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Virginia Nelson
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getting married too young. And I do still think it would have been a mistake. She would have hated me in a year. I was too confused to have been a decent husband to her. But she screwed up too. She could have answered me. Ignoring me for years? That was more than a little bitchy.”
Braxton hammered harder. “How many men write a woman even one love letter in their lives? I’ve written her for years. That has got to mean something.”
Lou laughed. “Means you are one romantic son of a bitch.”
Braxton glared at his buddy and then caught a face through the open window of the house.
A moment later, Mrs. Demshar came out carrying a pitcher of tea. “You boys come up here and take a little break. That sun looks hot and a nice drink and rest should cool you down.”
Obeying, Braxton bounded up the half-finished ramp and accepted a glass, frosted with condensation, from the old woman. “Thanks, Mrs. Demshar.”
“Braxton?”
“Yes, Mrs. Demshar?”
“You don’t give up on that girl.”
Mrs. Demshar hobbled back into her house, and Braxton shot a slack-jawed glance at Lou.
Lou simply grinned.
“Was that part of the plan?”
Lou shrugged. “Figured the fact you won’t shut up about her might come in handy, yeah.”
Chapter Eleven
November 23, 2004
My Bigfoot,
I was remembering our first fight today, or as close as we ever came to a real fight. You were all mad because I promised you I would go to that spring formal and I clean forgot about it, mostly because I’d started my first job and between school and working… Yeah, I knew I was dropping balls. But you showed up at my parents’ house full of fire and brimstone, ready to tear into me. I was under the car and saw your legs. Rolled out from underneath, saw your face, knew you were pissed—so I rolled right back under the car again.
I expected you to rail at me, lay into me way worse than my mother ever did, especially since I didn’t even know what I’d done to make you mad.
Do you remember what you did instead? You straddled my hips, sliding your hands up my chest. When your fingertips grazed my nipple, I thought my dick was going to burst free from my work pants. I very nearly sat up and banged my head on the car, but I must have had a lick of sense left so I rolled out, my hands on your hips to keep you in place.
You still looked pissed, but I could see the hurt underneath it. I sat up, put my dirty hand on your cheek and asked, “What did I do, baby?”
Blinking fast, the way you do when you don’t want me to cry, you said in that uppity tone you get when you’re annoyed, “The dance is tonight. I’m guessing we’re not going.”
I must have cringed. I didn’t have a good excuse for forgetting and you looked so good, white dress and hair curled. And now a big greasy trail across your dress where I’d touched you.
I couldn’t fix it—knew I couldn’t—but I stood up and asked you to wait a minute. I turned on the stereo, and no, I don’t remember what song was playing. I do remember it didn’t matter. I cleaned off my hands and took off my dirty shirt and went to you, pulling you close. “I might not remember everything as the years go by, Abs, but I’ll always remember this.”
I inhaled the scent of your hair and trailed my fingertips across your back. We rocked back and forth, just the tinny sound of that cheap old radio and the beat of our hearts.
Guess I just wanted to say I should have told you I might not always be perfect, but, baby…I’ll always remember that.
I love you.
B
Abigail realized everyone was against her within a week. If one more person came up to her and told her what a nice young man Braxton had grown up to be, she would throw up.
Sick of the barrage of townsfolk, she headed to the tool store.
No good memories came to mind when she thought back to the shop. Mr. Dean ran the store as long as she remembered and never liked her. She wasn’t good enough for his football hero son. He
Braxton hammered harder. “How many men write a woman even one love letter in their lives? I’ve written her for years. That has got to mean something.”
Lou laughed. “Means you are one romantic son of a bitch.”
Braxton glared at his buddy and then caught a face through the open window of the house.
A moment later, Mrs. Demshar came out carrying a pitcher of tea. “You boys come up here and take a little break. That sun looks hot and a nice drink and rest should cool you down.”
Obeying, Braxton bounded up the half-finished ramp and accepted a glass, frosted with condensation, from the old woman. “Thanks, Mrs. Demshar.”
“Braxton?”
“Yes, Mrs. Demshar?”
“You don’t give up on that girl.”
Mrs. Demshar hobbled back into her house, and Braxton shot a slack-jawed glance at Lou.
Lou simply grinned.
“Was that part of the plan?”
Lou shrugged. “Figured the fact you won’t shut up about her might come in handy, yeah.”
Chapter Eleven
November 23, 2004
My Bigfoot,
I was remembering our first fight today, or as close as we ever came to a real fight. You were all mad because I promised you I would go to that spring formal and I clean forgot about it, mostly because I’d started my first job and between school and working… Yeah, I knew I was dropping balls. But you showed up at my parents’ house full of fire and brimstone, ready to tear into me. I was under the car and saw your legs. Rolled out from underneath, saw your face, knew you were pissed—so I rolled right back under the car again.
I expected you to rail at me, lay into me way worse than my mother ever did, especially since I didn’t even know what I’d done to make you mad.
Do you remember what you did instead? You straddled my hips, sliding your hands up my chest. When your fingertips grazed my nipple, I thought my dick was going to burst free from my work pants. I very nearly sat up and banged my head on the car, but I must have had a lick of sense left so I rolled out, my hands on your hips to keep you in place.
You still looked pissed, but I could see the hurt underneath it. I sat up, put my dirty hand on your cheek and asked, “What did I do, baby?”
Blinking fast, the way you do when you don’t want me to cry, you said in that uppity tone you get when you’re annoyed, “The dance is tonight. I’m guessing we’re not going.”
I must have cringed. I didn’t have a good excuse for forgetting and you looked so good, white dress and hair curled. And now a big greasy trail across your dress where I’d touched you.
I couldn’t fix it—knew I couldn’t—but I stood up and asked you to wait a minute. I turned on the stereo, and no, I don’t remember what song was playing. I do remember it didn’t matter. I cleaned off my hands and took off my dirty shirt and went to you, pulling you close. “I might not remember everything as the years go by, Abs, but I’ll always remember this.”
I inhaled the scent of your hair and trailed my fingertips across your back. We rocked back and forth, just the tinny sound of that cheap old radio and the beat of our hearts.
Guess I just wanted to say I should have told you I might not always be perfect, but, baby…I’ll always remember that.
I love you.
B
Abigail realized everyone was against her within a week. If one more person came up to her and told her what a nice young man Braxton had grown up to be, she would throw up.
Sick of the barrage of townsfolk, she headed to the tool store.
No good memories came to mind when she thought back to the shop. Mr. Dean ran the store as long as she remembered and never liked her. She wasn’t good enough for his football hero son. He
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